Runaway Groom
by Gemini Nagini
Summary: Harry and Draco have at long last gotten their dream Christmastime Wedding (courtesy of MoM.) But will too many secrets cause Harry to leave love at the altar? HD saphappy political humour slash
1. Runaway Groom

DISCLAIMER, POINTS OF ORDER, OTHER SUCH TRUCK:

When Gabby first approached me about helping her write this fic, I was pretty much set against it. Harry Potter slash of any type is just not something I'd had it in me to support, much less write. Or so I thought. Even knowing full well I would most likely turn her down because of my personal viewpoint, Gabby asked me for help anyway.

I was rather mystified at the request to give personal insight for Gabby's Harry/Draco propensity. It was her sincerest desire to write a wedding for her favourite 'ship. Months previous, I had met Gabby on Mugglenet. The first time we met, she trusted me with the knowledge of her slash preference, as I'd correctly guessed the true meaning behind her nick. At first I thought it was just all wrong for Harry and Draco (I still do and she knows it) but it had nothing to do with the gay issues. It had to do with the fact Draco is a complete pantywaste, while Harry is so alpha!

But Gabby sent me a link on fanfic net which pretty much drove her ship. It was an AU slash, which included a much more friendly and approachable Malfoy; one who would always defend and talk to Harry like he was a real person. Yes, I know, farfetched. But it was quite beautifully and tastefully done, and changed my opinion on "all gay slashfics being complete rubbish."

Gabby knew well the tendency for slash guy/guy weddings to be degrading and stupid. She'd wanted to give Harry and Draco a very dignified wedding, without all of the ridicule and sexual innuendo that surrounds such stories. So, in my willingness to help a dear friend, I reached deep inside myself and said, "All right, I'll help you."

It was also rather tunnel visioned of me to say no. I have loads of gay and lesbian friends, and even one who's transexual. Here I prided myself on being open-minded, but I closed down that part writing of myself because I was afraid of what "straight" people would think.

So, Gabby and I began to put ourselves in other people's shoes, so that we would better be able to write our fic. It's what we've always done; and this story was not an exception. In fact, this one has affected me more emotionally that just about anything I've ever written. Probably because I have so many friends who have that different preference.

And you know what? BGLAD people sure as hellfire aren't any less passionate, less loving, less desirous to have a beautiful wedding or marriage than straight people are. Many couples also want to have a family and children, with good paying jobs, 2 cats in the yard, and a car bought with good credit in the driveway. Gayness also does not equal promiscuousness, as I know three couples who have stayed faithful to each other for over seven years. Many straight folk could take a leaf out of that book. Another interesting fact to note is that it's rarely ever gay people who write gay slash, at least when it comes to Harry Potter.

As it "got out" to a few of my friends and acquaintances that I was doing this, I was…..floored by some responses. I naturally didn't expect people to jump up and down with joy about it; I'd known my initial reaction was less than positive. Someone said that I shouldn't do this, because what if it "got out" that I'd written something like this, and it "ruined my future as a writer." One time, I had three people in a room gang up on me and tell me I was "sick, evil, and twisted for writing about "children's characters in such a manner." I wasn't even talking about it, they approached ME.

Even just these encounters due to slash, opened my eyes in such a way as had never been before. If people had attacked me as a person, over the mere RUMOUR that I was writing FICTIONAL gay slash with FICTIONAL characters, what the hell were they doing or saying to homosexuals themselves? The possibilities were appalling.

So after briefly considering throwing in the towel, I'd decided to make this fic my champion cause and write with a vengeance. See what happens when somebody tells me I shouldn't do something? So you may think of this as political slash if you will, a sort of "Gay Pride Potter/Malfoy" idea as a theme. Not that Harry suddenly wishes the colours of Gryffindor House were fuschia and chartreuse. Nope. Harry is still Harry, Draco is still Draco, they just happen to like…each other. Oh yes, and they are both consenting adults. Kids just don't get married to each other, even in the magic world.

Gabby and I planned the entire wedding out, start to finish, just how a coordinator would. We sincerely hope you enjoy this story, as we've put so much heart and dedication into it. Also remember even though this intro was serious, there is still that underlying current of humour and emotional punchiness that follows any wedding. It's long, but I guarantee you'll be entertained. Thanks so much, and enjoy the read. Cheers, L000pyf from Mugglenet.

** .. .. .. .. .. .. **

Star Pellerin and Gabby Marie had come to fetch Draco and Harry for the start of the ceremony. Harry thought to himself that the girls, one a slender and fair-haired beauty, the other a raven-haired knock-out, both formerly of Slytherin house, looked resplendent in their black taffeta robes. The fabric they wore swished and shimmered in the dim lighting of the hallway, shifting from a pink, to green, to blue, to purple, depending on what angle they moved in.

Each of them had been both moved and elated when he and Draco had asked them to take an important part in the binding ceremony. A traditional wizard handfasting required there be three bandladies; one main one called the "banding mistress" who conducted, and two bandmaidens, both unmarried, to assist the mistress and bear the bindings through the aisle, preceeding the couple. These girls had graduated the same time Draco and Harry had, and Harry secretly thought the pair could almost rival Malfoy in the looks department.

Harry smiled as he looked at Draco draped in his forest green damask and silken-lined robes. Almost rival, but not quite. The pure silver serpentine piping and midnight blue turtleneck Malfoy wore set off the green perfectly. Harry himself wore the same outfit, only the colours were reversed—he had a forest green turtleneck and quilted midnight blue robes. At each juncture of the diamond shaped quilting was a beveled Swarovski crystal, and the precious stones took turns winking in the torchlight.

Privately, Harry thought their get-ups were a bit over-the-top, but he couldn't deny the effect. So he figured this one frivolity was forgiveable. After all, you only get married once in your life, right? As a Malfoy, Draco certainly seemed to know exactly what he wanted out of the ceremony. By comparison, Harry thought they could've gotten married in a pair of Dudley's old Smeltings uniforms, for all he cared. Complete with knickerbockers and boaters. Okay, maybe not the boaters. He was simply willing to go along with whatever Draco wanted, as long as it pleased him.

To compliment their regal look, Draco had them each wear laurel leaf crowns, as well as chaining swags of holly intertwined with mistletoe across their shoulders. The swags hung from the epaulets of their robes; one swag was draped across the chest, and another across the back. And tying the swags to the epaulets was none other than silver-lined ribbon in the colours of the tartan "Pride of Wales." It was a beautiful mix of their wedding colours; the blue and green plaid with a single red stripe brought out the bright red holly berries perfectly.

Now it was Draco's attention to Muggle ties that began to impress Harry. Pride of Wales. At first Harry thought it was mere coincidence; but then he reminded himself Draco was nothing if not a stickler for details. He'd obviously picked the colours out of significance to Harry's Muggle heritage, whether Harry was Welsh or not.

Harry and Draco walked in single file with Star and Gabrielle down the narrow strip of stone that was left of the centre in the entrance corridor at Hogwarts. On either side of them were alternating square beds of phlox and gentians, carpeting the floor beneath them. Upon closer inspection, Harry noticed the flowers were actually growing _out _of the stone itself, instead of merely sitting on top of it.

Although the blossoms themselves were common enough, and could easily be found in any English garden (Harry had certainly tended enough flowerbeds in his day on Privet Drive, thanks to Aunt Petunia), the varieties were definitely of a rarer breed. Phlox was usually pink or sometimes magenta in colour, but these were of beautiful white. And the gentians…the petals were a dark iridescent indigo, and matched his dress robes perfectly. More incredible, these were blooms that grew in the spring and summer, but he knew extraordinary things could be done concerning horticulture and magic. He asked Draco about the flowers.

Malfoy lifted an eyebrow and simply intoned, "Only the best; American imported Hood's phlox and Windsor gentians for us."

Windsor! Although Harry hadn't had cause to particularly care about Muggle monarchy one way or another, anything to do with Windsor or Wales regalia was something every primary schooler learned was usually of the highest honour, but more than that—it was typically hard to come by and usually very, very expensive. And here they had fields of it, merrily blanketing the floor to the Great Hall.

Exhibiting extraordinary conscientiousness and taking to mind Harry had essentially grown up Muggle, Draco had taken the time to find out precisely the fineries that might make Harry the most comfortable or appreciative. Once again he certainly valued Malfoy's sentiment—the man had obviously done his research. It touched him to think Draco cared that much to do so.

However, Malfoy had been entirely too secretive about the details of this whole affair, as far as Harry was concerned. Even though Harry admittedly had no mind for such fussy little minutiae, it still irked him no end that Draco, who'd had to convince Harry (through much hemming and hawing) to accept the Ministry's offer to pay for their wedding in the first place, would not let him in on anything. Near the only things Harry had known about for the last six months, up to walking down this hallway, was about their robes (they had to be fitted, hopelessly profligate though they were), their wedding colours, what they would be eating, and that the flowers they picked out would somehow involve lilies, in remembrance of Harry's mother. The traditional Hogwarts feast and lilies had truly been Harry's only requests, besides the fact that he had, from the start, flatly refused to hold the bouquet.

His cheeks coloured slightly at the remembrance of that conversation; Draco, having an all-wizard family since the dawn of forever, simply gave Harry a blank look after this refusal to bear flowers down the aisle. Furious with Malfoy for having the gall to not know what he was talking about, and more furious still that he was singularly incapable of explaining the Muggle-world reference without incurring ridicule, Harry had stormed off in a fit of humiliated embarrassment, and refused to discuss the matter any further. That was, until Draco had come back later that day, laughing his bloody arse off about the whole thing.

It turned out Malfoy had, out of sheer morbid curiosity, consulted Hermione about Harry's reference. And Hermione, bless her insufferable know-it-all nature, had been only too forthcoming with the details.

Malfoy had even spent the rest of the evening calling him "Ickle Harriet", pinching his cheeks, pretending to sweep the floor with his Firebolt, and saying that he'd always known Harry would make him a good little "wifey" someday. Harry would've sworn that until that point, any murderous intent he'd ever felt in his life had been rather bland in comparison. And yes, that included toward Voldemort himself.

Star had already reached the double-doors to the Great Hall, with Harry and Draco in pursuit. She had barely opened one door just a hair when the strains of "Canon in D" filled the air.

Turning to Draco, Harry inquired him in an astonished manner again. "Pachelbel? That's Muggle music…for Muggle weddings." Then something else dawned on Harry. It was probably being performed live.

Still more disbelievingly, he said, "Who's….playing it?"

Draco gave him a soft, knowing smile. He was clearly enjoying Harry's shock.

"Oh, just everybody's favourite group in the Wizard World. They were only too happy to agree to come here, you know. They're acutally quite keen on meeting you." Draco paused, and smiled a bit more.

Uncharacteristically reticent, Gabby merely watched the two of them with undisguised interest as Star smirked and peeked into the Great Hall, apparently following their conversation as well. It irritated Harry that everybody around him knew what was going on, and seemed in no hurry to tell him. Harry had never done too well with surprises. Maybe it had to do with the fact that ninety-nine out of every hundred shocks he'd received in his life had been nasty in the extreme, to say the least.

"Who is it?" demanded Harry this time. There were loads of music groups in the wizarding world, and not one of them came even close to sounding like what he was hearing now.

Draco exchanged a sidelong glance with Gabby and said, "The Weird Sisters."

Scrunching his face up in consternation, Harry snorted. "Go on," he scoffed to Draco, "pull the other. Who is it, _really_?" He honestly couldn't believe Malfoy was trying to be clever, right now of all times.

Making a small noise of indignation, Draco teasingly raised his eyebrows and looked to Gabby as if for assistance to dispell Harry's disbelief. She took the que, hugely smiling and nodding her head.

"It really is the Weird Sisters, Harry." Grinning broader still, as his eyes got larger, she said liltingly, "They've been practising for months, to get the rhythms just right."

Star added quietly from her doorway, but just as amused, "Not to mention they enchanted their instruments to get that proper Muggle sound."

Sure that his facial expression now more closely resembled that of a mackerel than a man, Harry hurriedly closed his mouth and faced Draco again. "The _Weird Sisters_," he began, "at _our_ wedding?" Having seen the Weird Sisters perform fourth year for Yule Ball, it was still incomprehensible that the popular wizard group could possibly get any of those odd instruments they played to sound like a Muggle chamber orchestra, charmed or not.

For an answer, Draco beckoned him forward, and Star moved out of the way so Harry could take a peek inside, to see for himself.

And while he looked, he got more than an eyefull or two, all right. Only it was of anything but the Weird Sisters.

The current arrangement of the Great Hall, now lined with pews on either side, resembled nothing so much as a chapel in the grandest of all cathedrals. And all the benches were packed with people. Not just wizardfolk, but Muggles too. Not a lot, but they were there.

Even through the small sliver of doorway, what he was looking at revealed a room that had been transformed into an enchanted forest.

Draco hadn't just arranged for there to be lilies at their celebration. Oh, no. Harry saw several different varieties of lilies, all white, each more beautiful than the next. He also saw numerous other succulent blossoms, each more hard to come by than the rest. In fact, it seemed as if every brilliant alabaster bloom from Edinburgh to Ecuador, from Egypt to Edmonton had been recruited for their personal use. Cascades of these flowers poured over the edge of the benches, lining the aisle with a blinding splendor. For what they would be walking on once they entered would be blaze-red plush carpet. It only made the flowers stand out all the more.

Harry's breath caught in his throat, as the full impact of just what Draco and the Ministry had been up to these past few months slammed into him. And it wasn't a pleasant experience. All of that garish opulence, for a simple ceremony? So many people, just to see a union together?

He clearly didn't understand a single reason of why people wanted to be so lavish with their adoration or their affluence, just for he and Draco. So mind-bending was the whole of it, Harry could scarcely take it all in. Unknowingly, he began to shrink back from the doorway, unnoticed by his other three companions. They too, were looking through the door into all of that brazen flamboyance.

Not caring that he was crushing the rare blossoms in the hallway underneath his shoes now, Harry crashed into the wall and nearly struck the back of his head. He automatically removed his glasses, small of his back still against the wall, and leaned forward, holding his head in his free hand.

"No," he gritted out, eyes now closed tightly, "this can't be happening. Why can't they all just go away, and leave us in peace…"

He'd evidently caught the attention of the others in the hallway, because he heard the door shut and a set of footsteps come toward where he was standing. Recognising the footsteps as Draco's, he went on accusingly, "…you let them come here, let them make such a to-do over us…they shouldn't! It's bad! It's all wrong…they should just go home to their lives, and leave us be with ours…" trailed off Harry, rubbing his eyes.

Draco, sensing this was more than just the usual "get the public off my back" reaction from Harry, tried a very guarded approach. But Harry still hadn't suspected the words Malfoy would say.

"They're not here for me, you know. They're here for _you_," Draco enunciated very carefully.

"Me!" shouted Harry, even more incensed. If Draco thought this was going to help placate the situation, he was sorely mistaken. "And why, in all nine phases of the moon, would anybody wish to lavish such ostentation on someone like me? I'm just a….just another idiot graduate from Hogwarts, with not-so-hot grades, who got lucky enough to join the Quidditch League, trying to make my way in the world…."

Getting a very kind look in his eyes, Draco said, "Yes, and that is precisely the reason why they find you exceptional." His lips upturned ever so slightly, and he continued, "Is that you don't know, or even think that you are. Even after defeating…_Voldemort_ himself. And they want to show you specifically, what they think of that. Nobody likes an egotistical rescuer. So you're their hero in more ways than one. And because you've shunned all their attention up to now, this is their first chance to finally make it happen."

Becoming even more speechless, Harry stuttered, "But...but..._why_?"

Draco, unable to hold the stricken look in Harry's eyes, turned to the side and replied, "The same reason I wanted to do this. They all love you."

"But how can they love me?" Harry whispered noncomprehendingly. "They don't even know me." Without his scar and his glasses, Harry was also completely unaware just how little like himself he actually looked. The removal of that hardware combined with the lighting in the corridor, as well as the robes he was wearing and fury he was expressing added up to somebody who appeared much older than a mere boy. He did not look eighteen at all. It was clearly having a formidable affect on his audience; an effect that he also failed to recognise.

Draco, voice rising slightly, replied, "No, most of them haven't had the honour of knowing you personally. But they know of you, they know about your deprived childhood, your sterling reputation, all the wrong Ministry's incurred against you, what you've done for them, done for us all despite being damaged by your own people--"

Harry cut him off in a hoarse croak, "..._my_ own people...?"

Growing even more intense, Draco began to close the gap between them. "Yes, Harry. _Your own people._ What you are unable to see is they all want you to be happy. You, and you alone, made it possible for them to lead their lives how they see fit. And although it's a little bit late for apologies," Draco gave him a regretful, small smile, "they all want to set it right. Make it up to you, even in some minute, belated way."

Minute way! Harry could fertilize the entirety of the Hogwarts grounds with all the sunshine generated from that gross understatement. Curling his upper lip, Harry protested, "They don't owe me anything! I just did what I had to do, what anyone would've done!" Why did everybody persist in thinking it was such an astonishing miracle he had stood up to somebody who had been threatening his life? And who cared if it _was_ Lord Voldemort? You can't just shrivel up and die, can you? Looking toward the Great Hall again, he gestured, "And all that...the horrible extravagance..."

"Oh, no you don't," clipped Draco, cutting him off this time. He even seemed slightly...angry. But for what?

"This is precisely why I would not tell you anything up to this point. I knew you would demand it all be sent away, insisting that somebody more deserving should have all of this presented to them. Well, let me tell you something. Nobody, in this entire world, is more deserving than you are right now, Mr. Potter. And every single person, from the smallest witch, to the eldest wisened wizard knows it."

Harry started to cut in again in vehement disagreement, but Draco held a hand up to silence him, and continued, on a roll now.

"They're all aware, as never before, just how much you were condemned to sacrifice in order to help them. You had your parents, your godfather, your very life as one of us ripped from you, all through no fault of your own. You were forced to endure a spate of things nobody in this world at _any age_ should be mandated to cope with, let alone a minor who had to deal with sifting through visions from the Dark Lord, as well as growing up like a Muggle. Everybody in that room," gestured Draco grandly to the Great Hall, "is still yet only a small representation of the people who wanted to be here tonight. And it's all for you, Harry Potter."

Draco halted directly in front of him, now looking much less decisive about wanting to say what he was about to. "And unless you want to commit the most grievous insult ever, for one night in your entire life..." Malfoy's voice became rough, like sandpaper coated his throat, "you shan't..." he trailed off, and closed his eyes tight shut, "...you _cannot_..."

Harry had never seen Draco be unable to speak before. It only underlied the gravity of the words he was trying to convey.

Even more astoundingly, Harry watched as Draco sank to one knee in front of him on the cold stone floor. "You _will_ not...refuse them—refuse us—the honour of giving you your due." He ran a hand over his eyes. "Forgive me," ended Draco, in an apologetic whisper, as he hung his head.

Thunderstruck by all that happened in the last three minutes, Harry struggled to comprehend just how to classify what was going on. It was pure insanity, that's what it was. Insane for these people to be here, insane that they spent so much money, so much time, so much effort, on something that was supposed to be so clearcut.

And here was his betrothed, on the floor, begging him not to turn all these wellwishers away. Why, that was—it was awful! It was terrible! Despite the fact Draco had obviously struggled to make this a most memorable day for Harry, it was Malfoy's day just as much as his. And Harry would make sure that everybody else knew, even if they didn't care to hear about it. Since when did Harry ever really give a ruddy damn what the press and public said about him anyway? Now was hardly a time to start.

Subtlety was rapidly becoming a part of Harry's arsenal of discarded character traits, just as it became more and more obvious that most people had to be lobbed over the head with something heavy in order to truly grasp the spot on heart of things. Just as Malfoy had done with him right now. Making him see that he was being a spoiled, selfish prat by wanting to turn all these people out into the snow. And now Draco was asking _him_ for forgiveness.

Although Harry doubted he would ever fully understand why, he could certainly afford to at least appear thankful for this display of ecstatic altruism. After all, Harry knew how he'd feel if somebody he'd admired threw the outpouring back in his face. He'd feel very put-out; probably even resentful, all right.

So, he effectively had to show he _wasn't_ selfish by… _being _selfish? Mentally rolling his eyes, Harry hearkened back to all of that rubbish advice Gilderoy Lockhart had tried to give him during detention all those years ago.

_Celebrity is, as celebrity does, Harry. Remember that._

_Righteo, Professor_, Harry thought in sarcastic salute to the man who'd tried to Obliviate his memory in the Chamber of Secrets. The thing about selfishness definitely seemed like something Lockhart'd say. Finally, and from a decidedly dubious origin, Harry had learned most forms of popularity just transcended any and all logic. Heh. And having been such a spectacular melange of ridicule, hatred, and admiration in the magic world his whole life, Harry certainly knew how "fame can be a fickle friend".

It was most inexplicable; people would always love whom they would, always hate whom they would, but it was still up to the individual to decide how he or she behaved toward others, and conducted all outward reactions—to stay true to one's self.

Now he wondered why it had taken him this long to get it. The truly remarkable thing was Harry had instinctively known how to weather the storm, even without being taught. He'd certainly had some terrific role models, however. Whereas loads of them were superb examples of precisely what he _didn't_ want to be.

Once again reminded of another professor, Harry began to rethink his assessment of why Dumbledore had left him on the doorstep of 4 Privet Drive on 1 November of 1981. True, there was always the blood protective factor that went beyond magic. But it was the nature vs. nuture aspect in that environment which had instilled Harry with his true spirit. Had Harry lived with a wizard family, he most likely never would've been given the opportunity to build up that required mix of guts and gossamer, frost and inferno, silk and steel. Living like that had also given Harry an unexpected gift; the ability to have compassion on other people. If he'd been raised priviledged, Harry was ninety-nine percent positive he would've ended up just like…Dudley. Or at least a self-centred arrogant berk like his father. His insides roiled and warped with those thoughts.

Still Harry couldn't deny his heritage of James's foundation. While Lily's spirit of protection lived on in him, so too did his father's grit. Ultimately, one could not have possibly expected to survive such a life-long onslaught as Harry had experienced without that unassailable Potter moxie.

Also nobody should know too much about their own destiny. That was something Harry could never understand when he was an adolescent; having always assumed the adults thought he was too weak or simple-minded to know the truth. But with most of the Order, it was just the opposite. It wasn't Harry that the grown wizards didn't trust with the truth. It was the evil surrounding him, who might use, bend, or break him because of what he knew or might've known.

Even though every cell of Harry's body hollered at him to _run screaming_ and get the hell out, he knew that he wouldn't do that either. Because if anything had proven itself time and time again, it's that he was a fighting man, not a running man. Especially when it came to protecting those weaker than him.

But currently, he was facing the easily biggest demon he had ever known. Bigger than Snape, bigger than Umbridge, bigger than Voldemort, was...this thing called time. What to do with the rest of one's life?

For nearly two years after Dumbledore had told him about the prophecy, Harry had just…always assumed he'd have to die. Or murder someone else to live. It was the age-old paradox; kill or be killed. So as a result, Harry had inadvertently let a small, but no less significant part of himself—his future—be neglected. A premature death, of a sort, in which Voldemort's influence had already taken hold. It hadn't ended that way at all, however. Thankfully. Despite being death-shadowed, Harry had never quite resigned himself to that big Quidditch Pitch in the sky.

At the very least he was luckier than a lot of people, and knew where he could start.

_Hero schmero_, thought Harry remorsefully to Draco's assessment. It pained him greatly to see Malfoy on the floor, as a supplicant. Harry couldn't even make it from the waiting room to the wedding room without being a childish berk; despite all that stuff Malfoy explained to him beforehand, he hadn't exactly proven himself a worthy partner before now. Harry'd just have to face it all, for it was madness to do otherwise. For some enigmatic reason, this thought struck him as extremely funny.

"Madness…" Harry said aloud with a twisted little smile, releasing an equally maniacal high-pitched chuckle. He'd gone from aggravated, to scared stiff, to disgusted, to finding raison d'etre plus everything in between in less than seven minutes. Good thing you didn't get married everyday. This was proving even more draining than visions from the Dark Lord, as it had unquestionably been a long and stressful evening already.

And this reaction had obviously not been the one his friends had been hoping for. Unnoticed by Harry because of his revere, the two young women had taken up sides of Draco, ready to assist him convince Harry not to run, if necessary. Most unfortunately, the only telltale signs they'd had to go by up to this point was Harry's silence and the wild range of emotions, which must've flitted across his face. As well as that knackered little laugh he just gave. Eurgh. Poor them. Poor Draco.

In his haste to let them know it was all right, he pushed off the wall just a mite too quickly and called too loudly, "NO, you shouldn't—"

"Yes we should Harry!" Gabby practically cried, completely misinterpreting his reactions. "Please, let us do this…I mean, everyone's

already here…"

"Yeah," joined in Star, just as pleadingly, "well you can't say no, because it just wouldn't be fair!"

Then they too fell on the floor as his feet; the three of them, in a row, bowing and scraping almost as if he was their….he was their….

he…was….their…._stop this now,_ commanded the rational, authoritative part of his mind. It always amused Harry that it sounded part his father, and part Dumbledore. Weird. It nearly made him laugh again. Not a good thing.

At last taking matters into his own hands, Harry knew just what to do in order to terminate all this ridiculous reverence. Why, there was only one thing for it! The Wronski Feint! And if there was one thing in this whole world Harry could do the very best, it was dive, baby.

Clutching his glasses against his chest and still facing the others, Harry flipped to the side and began to force himself to breathe very shallowly. He'd discovered from a very, very early age the value of his talent for gravity-defying stunts. But he'd still have to make this convincing, the way it was, present party having completely ignored his attempt at reassurance.

Although a little rusty at this particular defence—Harry hadn't had to fake a "fear blackout" in a good ten years—he could still recall all the times he'd had to use it against Dudley and his gang. It was those few, yet intensely horrible incidences they'd actually managed to catch him. Wrongfully thinking that he was a complete wimp for passing out on the ground, they would all guffaw heartily at Harry's prostrate form and then walk away, leaving him alone. Bullies never liked a victim who couldn't fight back. The worst he'd had to endure was a few kicks to the ribs before he could jump up and leave them with their idiot selves in the dust, him getting the last laugh in the end.

Harry let his eyes widen enormously as he began backing up over the flowerbeds in the direction of the entrance. As if he were going to bolt out those twin doors. The other three observers were clearly catching the gist of his movements, and the last thing Harry saw before letting his eyes roll back was Draco's look of utter horror and despair. Harry locked his limbs, let out a pitiful moan for added measure, and plummeted for the floor, face first.

This was definitely quite an exhilarating sensation compared to when his starting height had been a good two-thirds-metre closer to the floor, however. Luckily, his burst of _what a rush! _and small grunt at slamming the floor at such high velocity were quickly drowned out by his friends' triplicate cries as he fell.

"Nostramus Almighty!"

"Oh, Godric in Hogwarts—"

"Sweet Merlin's Mercy!"

They chorused, as if having rehearsed their reactions.

Having stopped his face mere centimetres over the flowers by bracing with his forearms and elbows, Harry could still address his shocked friends, who had risen off the floor to assist him.

"I told you we should've let him know—"

"This is so not like him, this is bad!"

"I only wanted to make sure he couldn't send this all back—"

"It looked like he hit his head!

"Good thing his glasses weren't on—"

"He was going to run!"

Harry had obviously achieved the effect he'd wanted, but his heart still gave a telltale twinge at this ruse. Honestly though, he'd faced Voldemort and managed to come away in one piece half a dozen times, all before the age of eighteen. Did they really assume he was that delicate? Appalling! Still, this brief dodge was necessary. Now he must quickly assuage their concern, however.

"He's just _fine," _Harry asserted himself from the floor, knowing they would soon drop to the stone to make sure he was okay. More groveling type action was the last thing he desired. It was at least gratifying to know even if they did further subjugate their stance, they couldn't possibly sink any lower than his physical position, regardless.

"He just wanted to make sure he has your full attention," Harry added firmly. Two of them had given startled gasps as the third one came forward anyway.

"_Halt your approach!" _Harry maintained, using still more vehemence. He'd picked the medieval words out of the clear blue, as if substituting with archaic terminology could somehow accomplish what something more contemporary had not.

It worked. Whether out of some internally misguided response to the past, or pure consternation at hearing these odd words coming out of Harry's mouth, Harry had again achieved his desired effect. It was something he'd definitely have to get used to. Now all three of the others had stopped.

Pushing himself up off the floor, Harry addressed them again.

"Please, understand I know what you are trying to do here. Also, I have no real desire to hurt anyone, so I shall stay per your request."

They all looked so profoundly hopeful, especially Draco, that Harry could feel his insides go all fuzzy. "But you _must_ promise me that you'll remember one thing." Harry had a feeling of déjà vu ripple through him; as a similar promise had been requested once before in this very corridor from one singularly remarkable house-elf.

"Anything!" they all responded in such predictably cherished unison, sounding so relieved it brought an affectionate smile to Harry's lips.

"I shall share with all of you the same thing I told our dear Professor Hagrid after he'd fetched me, told me about the magic world for the first time, and tried to convince me I was a wizard of all things." Their eyes grew comprehendingly at the mention of Rubeus, half-giant they all knew so well. Probabaly a wise decision on Dumbledore's part, since nothing short of Hagrid's presence could've convinced somebody as hopelessly stubborn as Harry.

Harry slipped his glasses on again, and it seemed, at last, his companions' full belief was complete. They were all definitely more comfortable when his specs were back on his face.

"I'm Harry," he upheld, and grinned broadly at the assembled group.

He concluded happily, "_Just_ 'Harry'.


	2. Minister of Malarkey

"Isn't that right, Professor?" Harry addressed the silvery-bearded bespectacled man who was now standing behind his friends.

"As you have reminded many of us time and again," responded Dumbledore, highly amused. He had apparently slipped into the hall unnoticed by Harry and the rest, so absorbed were they in the moment.

Harry had only happened to see him after he'd put his glasses back on. His friends tried to whip around in response and fell to the floor in a heap, yelling variations on the word, "AAAH!"

Wondering what would possibly cause such an infectious loss of balance amongst three normally surefooted individuals, Harry stared for a full five seconds before dropping to the ground to assist them.

"Are you all right?" he asked them all at large.

"Yes," answered Draco, unable to meet his eyes. "But you…I think you pulled a…a…"

"A what?" questioned Harry, wondering why Draco was seemingly accusing him of causing this.

"I believe Mr. Malfoy is telling you that when you told them to stop, you unknowingly directed a leg-locker curse on them," supplied Dumbledore, obviously intrigued.

"But I didn't say—" began Harry, startled.

"Oh, I know you didn't say the words, but you definitely invoked the curse. The most important part of spells is the energy that is pulled in and directed. Words are essentially meaningless. They're simply meant to instill the required feeling behind the spells. That's why we can chant the same words in different languages," Dumbledore educated them all. Even the three now on the floor listened. It was funny that the headmaster was still giving them objective lessons, even after graduation, and at a wedding ceremony. Once a teacher…

"What is most amazing," continued the professor, "is that you directed it without using a wand. Almost nobody can do that. In fact so few can, the practise mostly remains theory, even to this day. Or…haven't you noticed your tendency to do wandless magic has increased, Harry? I daresay since…last June?"

Something clicked into place in Harry's brain. Ever since he'd defeated Voldemort, he'd noticed he was able to do certain…"magicky" things that he hadn't been able to before, without using his wand. Or a potion. Or any other enhancement. That's what had finally finished the Dark Lord off; Harry had caught him squarely off-guard, by saying one thing and doing another.

Since then, Harry once levitated a cup of tea straight out of Draco's reach, much to Malfoy's combined annoyance and fascination. He could open doors with a thought, switch off the lights by snapping his fingers, and mash the snooze bar on the alarm clock, all by will alone.

Not only that, but Harry could also see energy eminating from everything around him, if he looked the right way. That's how he was able to do things wandlessly. The energy was right there for the taking; all one had to do was draw it in. All these things started happening so close to graduation, that Harry had thought it was just a natural part of…being an adult wizard, really. It hadn't even occurred to him that nobody else amongst Hogwarts alumni could yet do the same things.

Evidently it was another talent which Voldemort had effectively kept him from knowing about instead. Hmm. Wandless magic. The only two people Harry had yet come across that he knew could do such things on a conscious level were Voldemort and Dumbledore himself. And the possibilities were…endless. Magical learning and discovery didn't end at graduation, manifestly. But before he considered more, Harry decided he did need to let the curse-catchers off the floor.

He looked at Dumbledore, who'd begun reaching in his robes for his wand, as if to assist Harry. Harry instead shook his head and waved him off. He wanted to see if he could remove, as well as invoke a curse without wand augmentation. Better stick with the real terms this time, however.

Feeling a tad (but only a tad) foolish and Merlin-ey for trying this, Harry concentrated on drawing the curse away from his friends, s-curved his arm in front of him and fully stretched out his fingers in a star-shape.

"_Locomotor inceptio!"_ shouted Harry, closing his fingers to a point and pulling his arm back. He actually _felt_ the curse come with it. Then he had to duck out of the way slightly as the magical backlash flew past his head. It was more of an exchange of spells, actually. For he was sending one, as well as removing another.

Instead of being angry or incensed, the two girls got up off the floor and ran to Harry exclaiming, "Wicked, Harry! That is sooo brilliant! How come you never told us?"

Draco, decidedly less exuberant to have been subjected to Harry's inadvertencies, answered sardonically, "Because, as always, he assumed it was something that everybody else would be able to do." Harry offered him a hand up, but Malfoy declined, a bit irritatedly. This was not a good sign.

"I had assumed the same thing as well, at his age," replied Dumbledore in defence of Harry. "At any rate, your guests are growing quite anxious. I offered to come out and fetch you, in the event you had lost your way to the Great Hall. I know you haven't been here in a fair six months or so. And Hogwarts is a rather large place." The Headmaster smiled and raised his eyebrows at them all.

At once, Star and Gabby began to attend Harry and Draco. Being on the floor tends to make one look rather disheveled, evidently. The girls took their wands and Scourgified the spots off their robes, making them look good as new. While fixing their swags and crowns, Star turned to Gabby and said wistfully, "Snape and Lupin are so lucky. I wish I could be the one to test the binding strength! Imagine, tugging on their arms for the test…!"

Gabby looked Harry straight in the eye, even though talking to Star and replied, "Oh, I know…" and trailed off, reaching up to fix Harry's fringe. Since graduation, Draco and Harry had gone fashionably "bachelor" and let their hair grow out a bit. Gabby flushed a little as she rearranged his hair, but to her credit, didn't turn away. Being in close promixity to Harry always made his friend slightly skittish, but it was something they had pretty much glazed over since the start. It was something Harry found rather charming; it didn't matter to loads of girls that he preferred another man's company. They were attracted all the same. Star was the same with Draco, just much more open about her appreciation.

Things had still not seemed to simmer down between he and Malfoy, however. They had not exchanged word one since the start of this haste to make them look presentable to the public. Something needed to happen, so as a means to assuage the tension, Harry tried to make small talk.

"Those flowers were amazing," he said to Draco, "what on earth did you use to make them light up that way?"

This comment not only caused Malfoy's face to fall completely, but any and all surrounding conversation came to a screeching halt. And there was Dumbledore, in the background, patient as a saint. An uncomfortable silence grew around them, until Draco spoke up.

"I would think you, of all people here, would know the answer to that." It was such an enigmatic reply; Harry didn't know quite what to make of it. So he faced his fiance and asked, in a slightly cautious manner, "And why is that?"

Draco gave a short pained sigh and said, "Potter, you're going to regret making me say this."

Now in no mood for more of Malfoy's games, especially since he'd addressed Harry by his surname, he turned fully to Draco and exacted, "What…did…you…use?"

Drawing himself up to his full, considerable height, Draco assumed a foppish and snootily proper air about him. Harry hated it when he pulled this unctuous and insufferable attitude. Then with a wholly inscrutable look in his eyes, Malfoy said, with utmost supercilious dignity, "Faerie…lights."

Making a small, strangled noise in the back of his throat, Harry blinked rapidly up at Malfoy, not quite sure how to respond. Muggle and magical terms could be different. Had Draco even the slightest idea of what he'd just said?

Star and Gabby were under no such confusing constraints, however. They knew from the start just what Draco was going to have to tell him. Now they were giggling their fool heads off about it.

Turning back, Harry saw the only telltale signs on Draco's face that he knew precisely what he was doing, were a small quirk at the corner of his lip and a flaring of his nostrils.

"What?" demanded Draco in his strongest Malfoy drawl.

Harry couldn't stand it. It was just too much. Holding a hand to his mouth, he struggled to withhold the laughter building in his chest. With a last fighting choke, he began sniggering like an idiot with the girls.

"Can't a man have a little respect at his own wedding?" yelled Draco into the hall, throwing both arms out in perfectly feigned indignation. He was standing there, green-damasked in leaves and dewgems, tendrils of white-blond hair curling around his face, and looking for all the world, paragon of mythical being himself. Faerie lights, indeed. The only things Draco was missing were the pointed ears. He could even fly!

At this final thought, Harry was driven to raucous laughter, and the girls joined in a half-second later. And it was all due to Malfoy's "faeristocratic air" being played to the hilt. Harry supposed the man could strut into the Great Hall buck-naked at this very moment wearing nothing but Dobby's tea cosy, and still be capable of commanding respect. Now that was an idea.

What made it so funny was Harry didn't look much different from Draco at the moment either. So, here they were, the two biggest "faeriefolk" of them all. If you couldn't laugh at yourself with your friends, who could you laugh at yourself with? At least Harry had gotten his tension-breaker.

"Well," Dumbledore said, walking up to the four of them, "at the risk of getting flogged for using an ancient term, I daresay it's magic time." Then he looked over the top over his half-moon frames, and smiled broadly. "That's what we say in the wizard world, anywise."

Harry felt a surge of pure excitement race through him as Gabby said lazily, "Yeah, that's what we say in the Muggle world too. They're not completely clueless, you know. Only mostly."

Suddenly, the doors to the Great Hall were thrown open from the inside and out rushed Minister Cornelius Fudge in a huff. Anxiety was his middle name, it looked like. He peered over quickly to the four young adults, gained a look of slight relief, and turned to Dumbledore in barely repressed frustration.

"Headmaster, I thought you said you were going to get our guests of honour. We've been waiting so long, we were beginning to think they'd skipped out altogether and…eloped." He looked appalled at the very idea.

But the dead-serious staging of his utterly ludicrous possibility to present company was so profoundly hilarious, Harry had to nearly bite his tongue clean off to keep from laughing. For the twelfth time in five minutes. At the moment he was feeling inexpressibly giddy, like he'd been slamming firewhisky shots. This time, even Draco was caught so off-guard, he let out a loud honk-like _HA!_ before he could stop himself. That alone nearly drove Harry off the edge again. The girls just held their breath, not trusting themselves to even draw in air.

Fudge was slightly bigoted toward anybody not like himself, and Harry had never been an exception. His moments of shocked disbelief concerning Harry had only increased after the announcement of the Potter/Malfoy engagement. At least Fudge was equally stupid toward everyone. You just couldn't take his ineptitude personally.

Nearly taken aback by their unexpectedly high response, Fudge, now slightly pinkfaced, demanded of Dumbledore, "Well?"

Harry knew hardly anybody would address the professor in such a disrespectful manner, but Dumbledore was his characteristically composed self. He answered Fudge in a delighted tone, "Yes, and here they are," gesturing expansively to the party opposite him in the hallway.

Fudge continued, "We never saw you leave; what took so long?"

"I did leave the Hall, but I didn't use this entrance. And surely, as a minister," Dumbledore near-admonised, no less amused, "you've witnessed your share of…pre-wedding jitters?"

The minister, now going completely crimson in the face, glanced embarrassedly at Draco and Harry and mumbled, "Oh, I…see," clearly not seeing at all. "Beg your pardon," Fudge said, as if saying the words left a nasty taste in his mouth.

Draco, once again effortlessly gaining complete control of the situation, threw an arm around Harry's waist and drew him in.

"Oh, I think Mr. Potter and I may find it in our hearts to tolerate your malarkey, just one more time," said Malfoy.

Now Fudge was not only cherry-faced, but speechless as well.

"Isn't that right, luvvy?" added Draco, turning toward Harry.

Trying not to smile, Harry said, "Oh, I suppose we should do something like that, darling." Baiting the minister had become one of their favourite games together. The minister's eyes expanded to the size of dinner plates at Harry's answer.

Harry then turned to Malfoy who quite unexpectedly greeted him with a very short, if very hard and wet kiss, smack on the mouth. Whoa, Draco was really laying it on thick this time.

Poor Fudge now looked like he would about fall over and die of shock. Harry would swear his skin had taken on a distinctly green pallor.

In response, the minister walked silently, if still pompously back into the Great Hall, leaving Dumbledore to deal with the irreverent soulmates and their equally disrespectful attendants.

Sighing with great pleasure, Harry reflected that he had nearly insulted the entire wizard world, degraded his fiance, almost run away, and soundly taught the Minister of Magic a lesson, all without having even entered the Great Hall. And it had been such a memorable evening already.


	3. Trends, Traditions and Tears

Practically since the beginning of Muggle and Magical Arts, physicians and their kind, of virtually every culture had been revered for their gifts and talents.

And so it was of deepest-ingrained tradition that a magic couple that wished to be joined was married by a Wizard Healer. The House of Malfoy was steeped in such legend and lore, even if they outwardly appeared to shun such aging superstitions. Not even amongst magicfolk could the origins of the handfasting ceremony be placed. All wizard healers, as well as having a degree for practising their profession, were instilled with the powers of cementing such a ritual.

It appeared that this was the singular crux of the wizardrealm proceedings Draco had arranged. Near everything else, as far as Harry could tell, had been chosen out of deference either to Harry's Muggle ties or significance to something else in both their backgrounds together. It was clear that all of the included substance, whether magical or not, had been chosen with great care and equal meaning.

One of the proceedings involved that each attendee bind their wands inside the sheaths with leatherette and a flower. Each guest had a lily or a narcissus bloom on display. In the magic world, especially in ancient times, one's wand was as a Muggle sword, and when in front of others to be used only as defence or dueling. For a wedding, tying one's wand to the sheath was akin to this, as it showed the utmost faith and goodwill toward all present, as well as marking a pronounced favour in the upcoming union.

The only ones in the ceremony permitted unbound wands were the couple and the Binding Mistress. Although never actually used, it was again considered only good luck for this tradition to occur. No magic was included in the ceremony itself, as it was stated the true power in the proceedings should come from nothing but the couple themselves.

As time went on, precious few changes had been made to the ceremony, and the adding of the House colours for each member of the affianced pair became one newer, yet no less required element.

Each of the two bandmaidens held two lanyards of these colours, one from each of the pre-wedded duo. Star bore the silver from Slytherin and the gold from Gyffindor, whilst Gabby carried the green and red. Their black robes were to signify the shadowed passing of childhood; a closing off thereof, rather than a death. This held a predominantly deep meaning for Harry.

After having reset the starting measures, the Weird Sisters commenced playing their beautiful music, and Harry and Draco walked each other up the aisle, hand in hand.

Determined to memorise every facet, Harry tried to study every single thing and person around him. This was so indescribably special; he wanted to not only remember each moment, but also recall it in detail. This was remarkably easier to do once one wasn't thinking about leaving it all behind.

Since it was Christmastime, all the dozen trees with their lovely baubles were still part of the décor; festive fir boughs and swags had been added as well. The only real change was out of representation to the wedding colours; most everything was blue or silver, as the forest green came from the trees themselves.Matching wreaths, wound with their tartan ribbon and holly complimented the largesse to perfection. Amazingly, the wreaths were so colossal; one could actually jump through the centres. Harry thought of the Quidditch hoops outside, and was sure he'd be able to fly through the middle without touching a single pine needle. From each wreath hung a sphere of mistletoe.

Where one couldn't see the green of fir boughs were slithering curls of English ivy. Each bench was draped across the back with it, and again the leaves were complimented with interspersed holly sprigs. It was also the greenery of the flower arrangements. Though Harry knew that hearty ivy was perfectly capable of growing itself into stone without the aid of magic, the appearance of it crawling on the windows and into the majestic rafters only enhanced the combined effect.

Harry drew in a deep breath of awe as he noticed the reason they didn't even need enchanted snow. From he bewitched ceiling fell snowflakes of every size and hue. It made everything shimmer in the softened light of the beautiful flowers, which flanked the aisle.

Another part of the wedding tradition was getting married just proceeding sunset, but in this case, Harry suspected it was more for beauty then anything else.

The subdued overall lighting of the Great Hall complimented the magical lighting of the blossoms so well; Harry was at a loss to describe it.

Vaguely, he remembered overhearing a conversation of Draco speaking with someone, on choosing which flowers of what variety for the decorations. There were three separate arrangements; one included calla lily, indigo crusader iris, and blue forget-me-nots; another included stargazer lily, Canterbury bluebells, and fringed gentian; whilst the third held paperwhite narcissus, jasmine bloom, and cerulean lupine. Recalling once again, Draco's conversation had ended with him declaring he couldn't decide, so he simply must have all three arrangements. Harry thought he was joking, but this was clearly not the case.

While normally such a configuration of evergreens and summertime marvel were never paired with one another, all the flora present emitted a heady scent and swirled together to create an epic mix of eau de naturel intoxication. It was, quite literally, the perfect balance of simplicity and sophistication; a terrestrial concord of the couple it was representing here tonight.

All the symbolism finally began to sink into Harry's psyche: silver for magic, holly for virility, white for clarity, evergreens for eternity, laurels for champions, royal blue…for monarchy. Waves of meaning began to wash over him. So that's what Draco had truly been trying to accomplish via Ministry. They'd wanted him to feel like…a king.

And for the first, perhaps only time in his life, he didn't slough it off or turn it away. Like a long-forgotten friend, he walked through the palpable warm curtain of companionship and familiarity. Looking around at the assembly, he realised that he recognised every single person; and each one of them literally wanted to be there for he or Draco.

Harry also knew he had things that not even a single monarch in a millennium could ever hope to possess. He had levity and laughter. He'd have a long life. Most importantly, he had true love. And he could experience it and embrace all of these elements freely, and supremely without the pressures of a kingdom or a dynasty. He could build his own, from the ground up. Surely he was the luckiest man to ever walk the earth.

As the music built to a crescendo, so too did the emotions within him. His hand tightened automatically in his companion's, who responded in kind. The four in the wedding processional took the promontory, and each young maiden took a side placement of her attended, lanyards at the ready. Lupin and Snape were off to the wings, both regal and ready to take their respective roles.

The last swelling bars of the melody drew to a close, and Harry could swear he saw his mother and father smiling at him grandly, from just behind the healer up front.

Madam Adonna, title now Mistress Adonna, stepped forward majestically in her crimson robes. Not only was she a well-known healer at St. Mungo's, but she also possessed something much sought-after for weddings. The wand that had chosen her was of a rare and particularly divine quality. It was made of Brazilian bloodwood.

The mistress took them all in at a glance and addressed them expansively.

"Gathered are we, in time-honoured tradition, to witness and celebrate the handfasting of two individuals who not only love, but also are best friends with one another."

The combined effect of the deep red robes and wand were said to bring all the best, most important qualities of the couple into perfect harmony. For red was the colour of life-blood, it was the colour of fire, it was the colour of heart, and thereby the very representation of love itself.

"For so much stronger than magic, or even friendship, is the bond these two share today. And so it is their decision to include each of us in the official sealing of professed bond for each other," continued Mistress Adonna, as she gestured Gabby and Star forward.

Harry could feel his heart start to thrum in anticipation. This was where the three women would wind the bindings around he and Draco's arms. He caught his love's eye as they each turned in, and watched the women use a special weaving technique with the leatherettes on the couple's clasped hands, effectively locking Harry's right arm and Draco's left together from fingertip to elbow. The truly amazing thing was the bindings were to be placed without any kind of knot or tying involved. It was said the magic of the couple would be tested by three ceremonial tugs on the bonds. If the bonds held, it was a strong union and they were meant to be together. If they didn't hold…

The Mistress and Maidens stood back, and Adonna faced the bound pair fully again. "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, by virtue of completing the ceremony and test, you agree to always share your moments of pain and joy, loathing and laughter, wellness and infirmary, and even hatred, but above all else, love. For one without the other is nothing, just as each of you without the other, would be forevermore doomed to bereavement, if you choose to shun or betray your partner."

Chest pounding, Harry's eyes grew round and bright. He was really doing this; really getting married. And the feeling was…it was…incredible. It was the most wonderful thing, that somebody actually wanted to dedicate the rest of their life to him… He wondered if Draco was feeling the same. Because any moment now the mistress would ask them—

"Harry and Draco, I ask you now. Do you choose each other?"

"_Yes."_ They both answered her of one accord, with utmost assurety. Harry felt little tingles explode in his chest; neither man had hesitated his answer.

Mistress Adonna paused for a beat, and then inquired of the assembly, "What say you all, shall these two be together?"

"_YES_!" responded every member of the audience in enthusiastic unison. It was the most beautiful thing Harry had ever heard in his life. Not one single person present objected, though they had the right.

"Father bond guardians, please step forward to perform your duty," continued Mistress Adonna, and gestured Snape and Lupin to take their places on either side of Harry or Draco.

Lupin grabbed Harry's left arm, whilst Snape took up Draco's right. This would prove to be interesting. Remus was extremely strong, due to his werewolf tendencies, so Harry wondered just how Snape would match up against him. Either way, he'd sure have to brace himself. Opposite him, he could feel Malfoy tense as well. Snape and Lupin, at Mistress Adonna's signal, gave the first tug.

"_ONE!_" She cried together with the audience. The father guardians had yanked on Harry and Draco so hard, just the once, Harry nearly went cross-eyed with shock. The bindings held.

"_TWO!_" continued everybody as one. Ouch. He'd definitely feel that one later. The places where the leatherettes touched his skin was starting to burn. Still, they held well. A little off-kilter, Harry tried to stabilise himself for one final pull.

"_THREE!_" exclaimed the crowd, in an ecstasy of enthusiasm.

All at once, Lupin let go of Harry's left arm, and Harry felt himself spinning back in the opposite direction. His lower centre of gravity, as well as his inability to maneuver in circles whilst wearing such long dress robes—not to mention being tied to someone else—caused him to trip over his own two feet.

Even before he could think about it, he realised someone had reached out and caught him. Nobody mentioned what superstition it was if you lost your balance. Probably that you'd be doomed to publicly embarrass your partner for the rest of your life. Harry's worst fear had been realised; he'd made a fool of himself in front of Godric and everyone.

Face now burning with humiliation, at having tripped like a jester at his own wedding, he didn't trust himself to look at his partner's face. He was also expecting the audience to burst into laughter, but they didn't. There was only a collective gasp and then silence. That was, until Draco touched his chin with their clasped and bound hands, a mere suggestion that he wished Harry to look up.

Fully expecting to see an oil-slicked Slytherin smirk, Harry gritted his teeth and determined to face the inevitable. Laughing sapphire eyes met fiery emerald ones, and Draco said, in a voice nobody else could hear, "In the interests of preserving what's left of your dignity, I shall fail to snog you outright from such a compromising position."

Harry felt his face grow even redder, if that was possible, but it was largely because Draco was whispering at him. That always drove him crazy. And even though clearly amused, Draco still was not using a derogatory tone or nasty look on his face. What Harry sensed and saw instead was just…._love_.

"But…in exchange for that dignity, you must allow me…this."

Wondering what on earth Malfoy could possibly be thinking of, Harry felt his eyes grow huge as his intended closed his eyes and leaned toward him. Then Draco gave him a lingering and tender kiss on the forehead, and as the audience watched, he heard a communal "awwwwwww!" from them all. Harry flashed his love a bright, if embarrassed smile in spite of himself.

At first he'd thought it was just Draco working a crowd, but came to the realisation this had been done entirely for _his_ benefit, in a fit of passion.

Because Draco wasn't wearing his bemused expression any more.

Amazingly, Harry saw that young Malfoy was now unable to compose himself, having been overcome by his intense emotion of the moment, and in front of an audience to boot. Even as he held Draco's look, he watched his eyes become moist with barely-repressed tears. So Malfoy had been feeling the same thing he had. That same incredulity that someone said yes to staying with him…

Draco didn't often lose control like this. The only time Harry had seen him so touched thus far, had been when Harry had accepted his proposal. They literally had some very strong ties which bound their relationship.

Harry straightened himself up to full height and looked as lovingly as he could into Draco's eyes. Now attempting to fight tears of his own, he took his turn to lean in and said, in the same voice Malfoy used, "Dignity has nothing to do with it, and you know it." Draco began to smile a bit through his engulfment.

Then Harry took his free hand and brushed the tears from Draco's eyes, and then his own. "But before I can properly thank you, we have a ceremony to complete." He tip-toed and gave Draco a return kiss on the cheek, and again the audience responded happily, by bursting into smatterings of delighted applause. From the sounds of it, there wasn't a single dry eye left in the Great Hall.

One little known fact was that Harry Potter could be just as commanding and composed as a Malfoy. It was just not his overall propensity to do so. He'd just been given the perfect opportunity to practise the ability, and rescue his partner from himself in the process. Brilliance.

The couple shared their moment together as the applause died down, and faced the binding mistress again.

Adonna, smiling at both of them broadly, asked "All set then?"

Still dabbing moisture from the corners of their eyes, they nodded sheepishly but happily, and said, "Yeah."

She looked upon everyone a final time and spoke up, "Whilst I hardly believe these two need my personal blessing after that—" she paused, and the assembly laughed with her delightedly, "we do have one last rite to perform for the honourees."

Banding Mistress Adonna looked at Harry and Draco as they smiled, to proclaim, "And so through the power of the Shaman of the ancients down to modern times of the Healers, and with the blessing of each of you present today, we declare these two Bondmates For Life and the Beyond!"

"_BONDMATES FOR LIFE!_"


End file.
